Healing
by Johnlock09
Summary: I'm a shattered, and pitiful human being, but finally, I can see the truth reflecting back at me. I, John Watson, am a broken man. And he, Sherlock Holmes, will be the one to heal me.
1. Problems

"Brilliant," he sighed, "Utterly brilliant, you know that?"

"Sometimes, I wish you would know when to shut the hell up." I chuckled, "You've said that three times already."

"And I will say it a million more, if needed."

Sherlock traced letters across my bare back, memorized by the softness of my skin. I shuddered within each touch, goose bumps bubbling on my skin.

"How have you been?" he whispered, as if scared for the answer.

I bit my lip, strongly focusing on what to say.

_My mother passed away, my sister wants nothing to do with me, and when you're gone, I'm surrounded by depression. I never feel like I can breathe, when I need someone to talk to, no one's there. Memories, memories of Afghanistan creep up on me. When I have a PTSD attack, you're never there. You're running off, solving cases, and being the perfect 'Consulting Detective' that I have always known. I've been so hurt, and broken, I even hurt myself, just so I can get some release. I crave it; I crave for this pain to just go away. When I'm in the shower, I cry as hard as I can, and the sound of the water drowning out my sobs. I'm tired, very, very tired. Actually, I'm tired of being tired. You're gone so much, and I'm alone all the time. I don't want to be alone anymore, can you get that? Please, please believe me when I say it. I don't want to be alone, anymore._

"Fine." I lie, faking a smile on my face.

His hand suddenly stops on my lower back, squeezing it a little. I give out a content sigh, wanting more physical contact.

"You're not telling me the truth."

Involuntarily, my body tenses. I try to get up, but he gets a tighter grip.

"I can tell when you're lying to me, love, don't hide it from me."

"Oh yeah?" I sigh, "How can you tell?"

"When you tell the truth, your shoulders relax, your breathing is regular, slowed heart rate, and your eyes peer straight into mine. When you lie," his hands roam up my back, and starts to massage my shoulders. I bite my inner cheek, causing it to bleed a bit, unable to hold back a tiny moan.

"-everything tenses. Your heart beat escalates, your face goes a little out of color, and you can't even look me in the eye. It's not hard to tell."

"What an interesting observation," I laugh, "-have you really been paying attention to me, to figure that out?"

"Yes," he jokes, "and that's not a hard deduction."

"Shut up."

By now, he flipped me over, and I'm straddling his hips. His hands, his soft, warm hands, cruise up and down my back, which helped me breathe much easier. He pulls me down towards his face, and I let my instincts take control. He hid his face in the crook of my neck, breathing so quietly, that I could barely hear it. My fingers tangle in his dark, curly hair, and I tighten them, hearing a surprised gasp from the man below me. I breathed in multiple times, finding my own hidden comfort surrounding it. He smelled like pasta, (we had that for dinner) a small hint of apple juice, and his minty toothpaste. But there was something else in the way he smelled, and it was so, so_ him_.

"Tell me what's wrong." He asked, still hiding his face.

"It's nothing to worry about," I sooth, "it's stupid, and not worth it."

His head suddenly whips up to mine, and I whine from the loss of contact. Neither of us said a word, letting the language of our eyes speak for us. The tension in the air grew stronger, so strong, that I could taste it on my tongue.

"I trust you," the volume seemed unvoiced, "I trust you with everything I have, you know that right?"

"As I, you." I tightened my grip in his hair.

His arms loop around my waist, and we both fall back onto the pillows, laughing like little children. The white covers wrapped around our bodies, he and I cloaked in our own world. For that moment, in that very moment of time, I felt my worries drip away. In a small part of my mind, I knew they would creep back upon me as they always do, but that thought soon washed away as he planted a kiss on my lips. My fingers reach back into his curls again, trying to get as close as we can, the thirst for physical contact unending. We spent our time giving each other kisses, not to intimate, but enough to satisfy. There were no worries, nothing to be shaken about; we saved each other by simply being there. His eyes, his beautiful, handsome eyes smashed into mine, telling me something I already knew. I peer back into his, the message so virile, so flavorful, that I knew my message had come across as well. He understood_, of course he understood_. A subtle smile flashed on my lips, but soon departed as he grasped my thigh, and kissed me once more. I may be broken, he may be as well, but I will always be there to fix up his shattered pieces; even if the ending resolves to me breaking again, and again, as he becomes restored.


	2. Heal

Sherlock's hands slowly go down my back, making my muscles jump. His perfectly soft lips touch my jaw, and travel to my pulsing point. He blows on it, quietly, and almost missing it, he places the gentlest kiss there, only to make my heart beat faster.

"Sherlock," I whine, "You don't know what you do to me."

"I think I do, after all, I am a 'Consulting Detective.'" He joked.

A laugh erupted from my throat, and his chest vibrates, and he does as well. Our kisses soon became more urgent, and possessive. He bites down on my skin, claiming me, wanting them to leave purple bruises.

"I want you, John." He croaks. "God, John, I _need_ you."

The want in his voice clung at my skin, and I moan from the sheer pleasure from it. My hips press into his, and our moans collapsed into one. My mouth surrounds his left nipple, and within my first suck, I hear his breath catch.

"_Jooooooooohn." _

I hummed as an answer, with the result of him whipping his hips up. I push them back down, and carefully take myself to the next one. But, unlike last time, my teeth scraped across his sensitive peak, causing him to cry out.

"John, if you intend to tease me like this, I assure you that-"

I silence him once more, by smashing my lips onto his. My tongue licks his lower lip, politely asking for an entrance. His mouth opens as a silent yes, and our tongue's battle another for dominance. With Sherlock winning, (_I bloody swear, he always wins_) his tongue dances across my mouth, exploring every landscape he could find. Running out of breath, our lips break apart, with the air soon collected of both of our breathing.

I sense Sherlock's hands reaching for my belt, and struggling to unhook it. Fear spikes through my bloodstream, and I bounce back, startling him.

"John?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"I-I can't."

"John, look-"

"_Bloody hell, I can't Sherlock!" _I yell.

Realizing what spilled out my mouth, I quickly turned my head, embarrassed at my sudden outburst. The tensity growing invulnerable. It felt like fire was burning at my goddamn skin. Sherlock made no movement, sat still, and I felt his gaze on me. Slowly, I turned towards him, and met his gaze.

His eyes shined of hurt, and worries.

"I just can't." I sighed.

Sherlock tried to move closer towards me, but I took another move away. His breath went ragged, and I could hear his unvoiced hurt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I did something wrong, John." his voice cracked.

"Sherlock, you don't understand."

"And what do I not understand, John!? You're obviously mad at me, and I don't even know what I _fucking _did!"

Well, Sherlock cursing was a first. I could literally see the anger boil in his pupils.

"_I'm scared._" I whispered.

The room was bathed in silence. He calmed himself down, and took a hold of my hand. I tried to pull away, but his grip was to tight.

"Come here. John, please."

Let's get one thing straight, Sherlock _never_ says please. Unless we're having maddeningly passionate sex, but this? This was new. Giving a nod, I went back to his side. His hands went on each side of my face, and pulled me back into his gaze.

"We haven't made love in weeks." he pouted.

"Yes," I sigh, "-we've been terribly busy, Sherlock."

"There's something else, John. I know there is. Even when we have time, you make up an excuse, going to the store, walking to the park, or something in that genre. It didn't bother me at first, but after awhile, it concerned me. You were hiding something from me."

My stomach clenched as I tried to say my next sentence, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I wanted to give you time. I didn't want to poke in your buisness, especially if you weren't ready to tell me what was wrong yet. And tonight, we finally _touched _each other, and John?"

His thumb caressed my cheek, as I kept my gaze.

"_I missed it. _Bloody hell, I missed _you._ And when something is wrong with you, I need you to know that you can trust me, and I won't bail on you."

"Sherlock, please." I say, tears freely spilling out my eyes.

"My John, my lovely John, don't you know I love you? _I'm not leaving you.__"_

A sob escape my throat, and I clutched onto his thigh. I squeeze my eyes tight, and I feel myself shaking. I could tell that Sherlock was a tad surprised at my breakdown, but his hand rubbed at my back, telling me he wasn't going.

I pounced on Sherlock, capturing his lips in mine. He let out a tiny gasp, and I took my golden chance to explore his mouth. His gasps soon turned into moans, and his hands traveled to my arse, and pushed me back onto him. I threw his boxers off, and sucked at the patch of skin where his neck and shoulder meet. His fingers traveled to my belt, and unclipped it, removing it from my jeans. His hands roam inside of them, and started to pull down. My body tensed and felt Sherlock pause his actions.

"It's okay, John. Tell me to stop when you need me to."

I give a silent nod, and Sherlock hums as a response. Soon my pants were thrown off, and Sherlock flipped us over; him on top of me.

I turn away, waiting for him to witness the damage on my body. All I hear is a loud gasp, and him trying to stutter a few words. His hands trace over them, barely touching them, but enough for me to feel like feathers are dancing across them.

"John. _John, John, John._"

I look up at him, and I see that Sherlock is _sobbing. _His hand slaps over his mouth, trying to silence it.

"It's nothing to cry abo-"

"Is this why you never had intercourse with me? Because of this? Hurting yourself? John, these scars, they're very intense and-"

"Ugly." I finished. "Sherlock, my mother passed away. And my sister literally wants _nothing to do with me_. I never feel like I can breathe, when I need someone to talk to, no one's there. Memories, memories of Afghanistan creep up on me. When I have a PTSD attack, you're never there. You're running off, solving cases, and being the perfect 'Consulting Detective' that I have always known. I've been so hurt, and broken, I even hurt myself, just so I can get some release. I crave it; I crave for this pain to just go away. When I'm in the shower, I cry as hard as I can, and the sound of the water drowns out my sobs. I'm tired, very, very tired. Actually, I'm tired of being tired. You're gone so much, and I'm alone all the time. I don't want to be alone anymore, can you get that? Please, please believe me when I say it. _I don't want to be alone, anymore."_

_"_You were never alone, John." Sherlock whispered, though his tears still heard, "I was always here."

"I didn't feel like it. Feeling alone, and being alone are two different things."

"John, listen to me."

"Sherlock, I don't feel like talking about this anymo-"

"_Look, _and _listen _to me, John."

The command in his voice forced me to obey his instructions. I saw him throw the covers to the edge of the bed, and saw him do something I never thought he would.

He kissed my scars.

One, by one, he kissed it lightly, as if they were giving each other an understanding. The butterfly kisses scattered across my nervous system, and left me utterly breathless.

"You, John Watson," he said between kisses, "You are my sweetest downfall."

"Downfall?" I breathe, lost in the moment.

"Yes. I was alone, and broken, before you came to know me. Though my mind is very different from everyone else's,"

"-_very _different." I conclude

He ignored my remark and kept going, "I could never comprehend feelings for another human being. I found them pointless, and a waste of time. But when you came along, my John, you changed all of that. I began to fall, fall for you, much faster than I even realized, and once I came back to you from my fall," we both shutter from the memory of his fall, "I realized that I cannot live without you. You are my heart and soul. You are who I wish I could be. Wherever you are, I want to be. When you're sad, I want to make you happy. When you're happy, it makes my heart blossom, because I love seeing that beautiful smile on your beautiful face. John Hamish Watson, I love you. All of you. Including your flaws, which yes, includes this. But, you're flaws remind me that you're _human, _and you've got a beating heart," his hand cruised over my now, fast pacing heart, "just like I have, as well. I want to kiss your scars away, I want to let you know that you're not alone, and I am always here with you. Never shall I want you to put a razor against your skin, John, because you don't deserve that pain. Whenever you have these cravings again, I want you to come to me. I will listen, and I will hold you. I shall embrace you, and melt all of your distress away. I will _never _leave you, John. I love you, my Doctor. Always."

"Sherlock, I love you. Dear God, I love you." I say, my words dripping with emotions.

At the moment I finished my sentence, he planted a soft kiss on my lips, and said, "You are not alone, my dear Watson. And you never shall be again."

His fingers brushed up and down the crack of my arse, and I let out a shaky breath. He then, pulled away, and I growled in frustration.

"All in good time, Watson." was all he said.

Opening up our drawer, (Sherlock moved into my bedroom a few months back) he pulled out the lubricant.

"Don't want to hurt you. Not tonight." he whispered.

After coaxing his finger with it, he brushed over my delicate muscle, and pushed in. My breath was trapped in my throat, and Sherlock kissed my jaw line, soothing me.

"Relax, John. This will go by quicker if you do."

Given the advice, my body relaxed, and Sherlock soon added two, then three fingers. I was withering under him, moans reeking out my mouth.

"Sherlock, _please. _I'm ready."

"Are you sure? I could go on for a little longer and-"

"_Sherlock, I will punch you straight in your jaw, if you do not take me right now._"

Laughing, he pulled his fingers out, and I whined at the loss of fullness. Sherlock lined his cock up with my entrance, leaned down in my ear and whispered, "I'm always here, John."

He pushed in, both of us groaning at the heat. He held himself back, and sweat gathered at my brow, and I shake from the intensity.

"It's okay, Sherlock," I moan, "You can go now."

He pushed out, and slammed back in, with both of us screaming at the sudden motion. Sherlock held down my hips, and I pushed back into him, and I wanted more, I felt like I could _never get enough. _

"God, Sherlock, _go faster!_" I screamed, my crave for our physical contact infinite.

He slammed faster into me now, his groans more sketched and ragged, and we both knew we were close.

"John, _John,"_ he yelled,

"Sherlock, _Jesus Christ-"__  
_

"No matter what happens," he said within each thrust, "I'm here."

My nerves in my nervous system exploded, and I could feel every little move he was making. I scream at the sheer pleasure of it, and it makes tears brew in my eyes.

"You are _perfect, JOHN," _

"_Sherlock..fucking Christ!" _

_"_John, I lo-"

His words were cut off by his loud groan, and I feel his release spread inside of me. The feeling of being so filled, and _whole_, set me over the edge. I let out a silent scream, my whole body quivering at the sensations that was peaking out of my skin. We rode out our orgasm together, and Sherlock pulled out, with me giving one last moan.

Once he got a washcloth, and cleaned us both off, he laid back next to me, and wrapped his arm around my waist. I brought my body closer to his, and I laid my head onto his chest.

"Thank you." I said.

"Hmm?" he hummed.

"Thank you for showing me I'm loved, and for showing how much you love me. I know it's hard for you to say those three words, and I know it must bore you a lot by saying it, but it means a lot to me. Thank you for you simply existing," his heart pumped faster by my acknowledgment, "because without you, I wouldn't be here breathing. You saved me, Sherlock."

"Showing my feelings is not my strongest area, but for you, I will do anything. You don't deserve to do that to yourself, John, and I don't want you to do it anymore."

"It'll be hard." I whispered.

"But I'm here, and I'll help you. I know what it's like, to crave something so bad, to imagine it happening in your head so many _times, _that it just temps you even more. I have experience, John, but I'm not going to let it destroy you, like it did to me."

Sighing, I put my hand on his waist, and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you."

"Stop saying that." He huffed, having a smirk on his face.

"Sorry, you arrogant bastard." I laughed.

The room grew into a comfortable silence, and Sherlock rubbed my back occasionally, maybe even blessing me with little squeezes. My eye lids began to grow heavy, and before I began to drift off, I heard Sherlock whisper,

"John. _My John._"

I may feel insecure, and may absolutely hate myself at some points, but I know that no matter what happens, Sherlock will be there for me. He will be there to hold me when I cry, to stop me from hurting myself, and he will be there if anything else happens to occur. For once in my life, I feel a sort of peace running in my blood, sprinting across my body, and it feels so damn good that I never want it to stop. Sherlock and I may be two totally different people, but, we are each other's halves. We keep each other alive by simply existing.

I'm a shattered, and pitiful human being, but finally, I can see the truth reflecting back at me.

I, John Watson, am a broken man.

And he, Sherlock Holmes, will be the one to heal me.


End file.
